Dancing With Your Demons
by sterica
Summary: In the city that never sleeps, there are more than several clubs of the sort that Santana Lopez works in. They call the people who work there 'exotic dancers', mainly, but no one is fooled about what they really do. —Brittana AU. Multichap.
1. Chapter 1

I've had this plot bunny for a while and I've finally got off my arse and written it. There will be a lot of familiar faces in here. There will be smut, later on. Also, I've never been to a club/been to Vegas or any of that so I'm sorry for any details that are off. I'm taking creative liberty here and creating Vegas in the way I think it fits best for me to write this fic.

Dedicated to Beth (thelilacfield) and Bobbi (ihavearedvine). You're both wonderful, and I hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

In the city that never sleeps, there are more than several clubs of the sort that Santana Lopez works in. They call the people who work there 'exotic dancers', mainly; but everyone knows that calling the girls who work at clubs such as Trouble Tones 'exotic dancers' is merely a ploy to make their work seem a little less sleazy. The title doesn't really work, though—everyone refers to them as strippers, or something of the like, anyway.

Santana doesn't really class herself as a stripper; technically, she doesn't really _strip_, per se. She's just there to give guys at the Trouble Tones a good time. Dance a little; pay attention to them when no one else does. She's more of a performer, she thinks. The title seems a little less sleazy than stripper, but still has an edge that makes it seem as though it could mean a lot more than the word was originally meant to.

The music still pounds in Santana's head as she makes her way off the stage—if it could be called such a thing. Santana has seen _stages _in her time, and a thin little platform with all types of horny men surrounding it does not really qualify as one in her opinion. A stage is for real performers, for those on Broadway and the like. Not for girls who are only there as objects, not as people.

She seats herself in front of the mirror that she has claimed as her own and switches on the light bulbs that surround the mirror, illuminating her face so she can see well enough to remove her make-up and then reapply it, less liberally. The amount of make-up she wears on stage is hardly welcome outside—even in Vegas.

Her eyes move over to the mirror next to her and a look of confusion crosses her face as she notices the sink and the area below the mirror is clear. None of the usual make-up bags, costumes or drinks that are usually there remain and Santana is almost worried. Quinn is always there after the show, laughing and chatting, bitching about all the douches who were out in the audience that night. But she isn't there.

Ignoring the fact that her lipstick is only half removed, Santana gets up from her area and searches the dressing room for Quinn. She smiles a half-hearted smile at Sugar along the way, dodging around various girls who are running around, a lot of them trying to find misplaced lipsticks and the like. Wherever she looks, she can't find Quinn. Santana thinks that she may be out in the club and so she makes her way back onto the 'stage', walking along it and hoping that there are no stragglers still left in the crowd.

Almost immediately, she sees Quinn sitting on the edge of the stage, her feet dangling down and swinging. She's looking up at the lights, but looking as though she's not really there. Santana hopes that the sound of her heels on the stage alerts Quinn of her presence and then sits down next to her, hoping to find out what's up with Quinn. She's usually the first one off the stage and into the dressing rooms, trying to remove her make-up and costume as soon as possible so she can get out into the real world, a world not made up of sequins and sparkles, seduction and sex appeal. She's often told Santana that everything seems so fake in the club.

"Hey." Santana says, swinging her legs off the stage, trying to get comfortable.

Quinn sits there in silence for a moment, before turning her head to acknowledge Santana's presence. She doesn't say anything, merely moves her lips enough for it to qualify as almost a smile, but not as though she really, truly wants to smile.

"What's going on?" Santana asks. "You're acting weird."

Quinn looks as though she is about to laugh, but she stops herself just in time. "It was my last night here, tonight," she says. She turns her head again to look out, avoiding Santana's gaze at all costs. "I just wanted to say goodbye to the stage."

"What're you talking about?" Santana asks, shocked. "Why?"

"I've had enough." Quinn says. "I need to get out. You know I can't do this forever."

"You can't just leave." Santana tells her. "This is your life, Quinn. You can't just ditch that all in because you're sick of it."

"I am, though." Quinn says. "You know, you're supposed to be my best friend but you're surprisingly quick to ditch me when things don't turn out the way you want them to."

"You're just quitting?" Santana yells. "After all this?"

"After all _what_, Santana?" Quinn retorts. "I'd like to have a life that isn't dependent on my looks. I thought you'd understand that. After Beth, I just…" she pauses, looking down for a moment. "I just like to think that maybe I can have my own family one day."

"A family?" Santana asks. "I thought _we _were your family?"

"Can't you see how stupid that makes me look?" Quinn says.

Santana just stands there, biting her lip to try and stop herself from saying something she'll regret.

"And that means you have to quit the job right now?" Santana replies, calming down her tone a bit. No matter how angry she is, Quinn is her friend. And she does understand, she really does, it's just that she doesn't want to see her go.

"Yes." Quinn replies. "I've already packed, so I guess…"

"This is goodbye?" Santana replies, all anger suddenly wiped from her system. Instead, a hollow feeling in her stomach replaces it, along with a feeling of shame and regret.

Quinn stands up and gets off the stage. "Not forever." she laughs. "I'll be around. You'll call me?"

"No." Santana replies. "You'll call me." she smiles, confidently. At least she still has her banter with Quinn—even if she doesn't have her beside her at the club anymore.

Quinn laughs. "'Course I will."

"You're not off the hook, you know." Santana says. "How are we going to fill your spot?"

Quinn smiles; picking up her handbag from the stage. "You'll find someone. Like when Mercedes left. I found you."

"Do you reckon another straggler will come along, then?" Santana asks.

Quinn smirks. "They always do."

Santana remains seated on the stage as she watches Quinn walk out. She knows they'll be able to find someone to replace Quinn in the show, but it's _Quinn_ they're talking about. She was practically the star of the show. Santana sighs. It's not going to be easy. Besides, she doesn't want Quinn to leave. Quinn is her best friend—it won't be the same without her.

After a while of staring out into the darkness, she heads backstage to let the others know about Quinn's departure. They'll have to arrive extra-early tomorrow to try and figure out how they are going to cope until they've got a replacement for Quinn.

For a moment, Santana stares at her phone, wondering if she really should call Quinn first—even beg her to come back. How can they do the show without her, anyway? But after a few seconds of staring, Santana throws the phone back into her handbag. They can survive without Quinn.

The girls fall silent as Santana walks back through.

"Hey, guys." she says. "Quinn's quit. Get here at seven tomorrow, we've got a lot of rehearsing to do. We need to figure out how we're coping without her and try and find a new recruit."

There's a collective groan among them all and a bunch of whispers, speculating about why Quinn left. Everyone knows why, really, though. She had enough. She wanted a better life, a more _appropriate _life. And the girls can't really blame her, but it kind of feels like a personal insult, an attack from the inside. It would probably hurt less if Quinn had slapped all of them across the face. It's as though she's said to them all that they're nothing, that their life is useless. The girls of the Trouble Tones know how it is. They know what people think of them. They even think that way about themselves, sometimes. But nobody ever says it out loud. But when a girl leaves, they don't need to say it—it's right there in their actions, what they really think.

Santana isn't the only one who can honestly say that Quinn's departure hurts.

.

Santana's apartment is only a few blocks away and so she usually walks home. For some, it would seem daunting to walk the streets alone in Vegas, but Santana has lived Vegas—she knows it well enough to stay safe. It's refreshing, after being inside the club for hours, the music pounding so loud she can barely hear herself think. Vegas is far from asleep when she heads home, but the night air hits her, letting her cool down and think for a while. Most nights, she walks home most of the way with Quinn, but not tonight. Quinn made it clear what she wanted, and that was the club and all the girls who worked there out of her life. Santana doubts she'll get a call anytime soon from Quinn. The girls who leave always say they'll keep in touch, but it's all just a lie, at the end of the day.

She worries about how they'll find a new dancer. Of course, Sandy or Holly will find someone _eventually_, but they may have to go a night with one less girl than usual, and it always causes problems.

When she finally reaches her apartment, she's convinced that she's completely worried herself out. She gets her keys out her handbag, clicking the lock open before walking inside, feeling around for the light switch so the apartment isn't completely dark. She takes her phone out of her bag before dumping it on her tiny kitchen table, then walks through to her room.

She wants to just collapse onto her bed and go to sleep but she decides to shower first, turning the water on before dropping her clothes and stepping in, letting the water cover her and wash away everything. It doesn't exactly work, though—the water doesn't wash away her anger at Quinn, or her doubts about finding a new dancer, about her future. Some day, Santana does want to leave, just as she suspects all the other girls do, too. It's not exactly a dream career for any of them; it's merely where they ended up. One day, Santana wants to be a performer, but a real performer, not just someone in a sleazy bar in Vegas, but someone with a reputation—a good reputation—and reviews and maybe even an album. At the Trouble Tones, there isn't any opportunity to sing, only to dance. Perhaps it is shallow of Santana, but she wants to be famous. She wants to be out in the world and known, not just some girl who dances in and out of the shadows and is only a mystery face of a gorgeous stripper for the guys who drift in and out of the club.

Santana stays in the shower long after she is finished, simply letting the water glide down her body, drops glistening on her arms, her breasts, her legs. But then the water starts to run cold and she curses loudly, jumping out of the shower. She slips on her pajamas and gets into bed, realising that the comfort and security she had felt with the water washing over her was just too good to last.

.

The sound of a glass bottle being thrown near her apartment wakes Santana before the sun rises. There's a part of her that just wants to stay in bed but she knows that she can't just lie there—she hasn't yelled at anyone in a while, not properly, and she's not going to lie and say that she doesn't miss it.

"Hey!" she yells out the window. "Ever heard of this thing called not waking people up at five am?"

"It's Vegas, baby!" one of them yells back, wearing a look on his face that shows he surely isn't just drunk, but stoned too.

The other laughs. "Why don't you come out here and have some fun, honey?"

Santana swears that she almost snarls at them. "I'd rather get Type Two diabetes," she hisses.

"We're just looking for a bit of fun!" one of them laughs. "Surely you wouldn't mind getting laid?"

"Listen, you horny bastards," Santana yells. "I have razor blades in my hair. And I _will _go all Lima Heights on your asses."

The two guys look at each other and turn tail and run for it—clearly worried by Santana. She smirks, looking out her window until she's satisfied that they're gone and then tucks herself back into bed. She doesn't get back to sleep, though. She tries for what seems like hours and finally gives up when the sun rises, deciding that instead she should try and contact Holly or Sandy about finding a replacement for Quinn.

She decides to phone Holly. She really can't deal with Sandy when she's only gotten about two hours sleep. Perhaps she'll manage to sleep later in the day—God knows she can't last the night shift at the Trouble Tones with only two hours sleep—but for now she has things to sort out.

Dialling Holly's number, she makes her way through to the living room-esque area and throws herself down onto the sofa, cringing a little as she sinks down a little further than before. She hasn't exactly got prime furniture in her flat—since Marley got her own place Santana has been living alone and hasn't been able to afford better furniture. She's still a little pissed at Marley moving to live with Kitty, actually, but she doesn't blame her. No one really sticks around with Santana, not once they've gotten to know her. Not that she cares or anything.

After the phone ringing for a while, Holly picks up. "What's up?" she says.

"It's Quinn," Santana sighs. "You know she quit, right?"

"No." Holly replies. "Then again, Sandy never tells me anything."

Santana feels inclined to laugh but doesn't. "I was wondering if you could try and find a replacement?"

"I'm on it." Holly says, a hint of regret in her voice. "Shame Quinn left, though."

"Yeah." Santana replies. "Bigger things, though, you know?"

"That's what they all say." Holly reminds her. "And you know what?"

Santana thinks that it's probably a rhetorical question so she doesn't' reply. She knows what, anyway.

"They never get bigger things. Or better ones. Soon enough, Quinn will come crawling back."

"I hope not." Santana says sharply. "She deserves better. You know that, Holly."

"'Course I do." Holly sighs. "But we don't get happy endings. Not in this business."

.

The day passes slowly, Santana walking herself through the routines. Sometimes, she experiments, changing it a little so that the setting of the dance is more a Broadway stage than the platform that they somehow use as a stage at the Trouble Tones. She tries to stop herself from doing that, though—she has to focus on her job. It's all she has and, to be honest, she's pretty certain that it's all that she'll have for the foreseeable future.

And maybe that's okay.

She's distracted and thinking about how they can patch up the routine tonight if they don't get a replacement when her phone rings. Seeing Holly on the Caller ID, she picks up, half still dancing for a moment before she feels a little stupid and stops.

"Found someone." Holly informs her.

Santana smiles. "That's great. Thanks."

"If you come now, you can meet her." Holly says.

Santana glances at her clock, noting the fact that it is six o'clock. She decides that she may as well go an hour early to meet the new girl and start sorting things out. It's not as if she has anything to do and so she shoulders her bag, quickly grabbing her make-up and things for the night, before she walks out the door, heading to the Trouble Tones.

When she arrives, the club looks empty, but she knows the right door to push and so she steps through into the dressing room. It's empty, with only a few bags stashed under sinks, personal belongings of the girls that they have left there overnight. She makes her way through the stage door onto the stage, thinking that Holly might be in the main area of the club with the new recruit. She walks through and can see Holly standing there, talking to a blonde that she presumes is the new dancer.

The girl's head turns a little and her eyes meet with Santana. A smile crosses the blonde's face and Santana smiles back, suddenly aware of every single part of her body. She freezes for a moment, taking in every aspect of the girl. Her hair, currently worn in a scraped back ponytail. Her smile, so filled with innocence. Santana thinks that the girl looks rather out of place. She wonders how it will be, the girl up on the 'stage', dancing for men who will only see her as a nameless fantasy. Santana feels an instinct to push the girl away from the club, to let her live a life somewhere else, but she knows that they need anyone they can get.

She forces herself to remember that they're waiting for her to acknowledge their presence and so she walks over to them, smiling. The girl's hands rest delicately on the bar, as though it is an actual ballet bar and not one that men gather round every night, jeering and leering at the girls on the stage.

"Hey," she says. "I'm Santana."

The girl smiles and their eyes meet once more. Santana can't be certain, but it feels like a jolt of electricity passes through her. The girl doesn't seem to acknowledge it, but there's a sort of depth in her eyes that makes Santana wonder. Wonder what, she doesn't know.

"I'm Brittany," the girl says. "It's nice to meet you."

And maybe it's stupid but it feels like the world turns upside down.

* * *

If you enjoy this enough to favourite, I'd really appreciate a review. Thanks! :3


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the response to the previous chapter, it's great that you've liked it enough to follow/favourite/review. As always, reviews are my favourite so I'd love it if you took the time to drop one by! If you do review, I'll send you a sneak-peek of the next chapter in the review reply. :)

We're actually getting into Brittana interaction now, so I hope you like it! :) There's also, uh, a lot of drama in this chapter, sorry if it seems a little rushed. :3

* * *

"Nice to meet you," Santana says, trying to quell the feeling that she can't quite name that swoops up inside of her.

There's an awkward silence while the two girls stare at each other. Holly seems to misinterpret it as hostility and so guides the two of them through to the dressing room.

"Why don't you two get changed so that when the others arrive we can show Brittany the ropes?" she smiles, darting out, with a look of worry on her face.

"Sorry about Holly." Santana comments. "She's a bit… into the business."

Brittany smiles, loosening her ponytail before taking the hair tie out; shaking her hair so it spreads out evenly. Santana thinks Brittany looks even prettier with her hair down, but she doesn't comment on the fact.

"I think she's lovely," Brittany says. "So, you're the lead?"

Santana ponders the question for a moment. Quinn used to be the lead, but the spot is empty. Santana wonders who would take the spot but she figures that the most logical person to take the lead would be her. "I suppose." she said. "The lead—my friend, Quinn—quit last night."

Brittany looks as though she's about to say something before Santana's phone goes off. Santana shoots an apologetic look at Brittany before seeing that the caller is Sugar. Reluctantly, she picks up.

"_Hey!_" Sugar calls on the other end of the phone. "Did you meet the newbie?"

Santana sighs. "Yeah. Why?" It's clear in her tone of voice that she doesn't really want to talk to Sugar.

Sugar clearly can't hear the hostility in Santana's voice and so she carries on. "Is she good?"

"I don't know yet." Santana says, frustrated. She doesn't really want Brittany to know that she's talking about her and so she's trying not to mention her name. She casts a look over at Brittany who has taken the chair next to Santana, the place where Quinn used to get ready. She's taken her make-up bag out and is reapplying her foundation. Santana decides that it's probably okay for her to walk away with the phone call.

"Tell me _all _the details!" Sugar squeals. "We're gonna welcome her into the family, right?"

"The stripper family?" Santana questions, smirking slightly. "Sure. She's called Brittany. She's blonde, about my age, I think. She looks nice. And I really gotta go."

"I'll be at the club at seven, 'kay?" Sugar says. "I'm so excited to meet her."

Santana doesn't bother replying before hanging up. She makes her way back over to Brittany, now re-applying her lipstick.

"Sugar is excited to meet you," she says dryly. She notices a little bit of lipstick missed Brittany's lips. "You've got some…" she begins, trailing off as she indicates the fact that Brittany has lipstick on her cheek.

Brittany looks up at her and rubs with her finger on a spot nowhere near where the lipstick is. "Here?"

Santana smiles slightly. "No. Here, let me…" she reaches her hand out and wipes the lipstick away. After doing so, she jolts, realising that she shouldn't have done that. It isn't right. Besides, there was a mirror right there that Brittany could have looked in.

Brittany smiles at her again. "Thanks, Santana."

"No problem." Santana replies, her voice shaking slightly. "I just have something I have to do."

Santana honestly doesn't know what's going on. She's straight, right? Sure, she's thought girls were attractive before but she never really thought that made her a lesbian. It doesn't, right? It's just friendship with Brittany and she can appreciate beauty without wanting to be with someone.

Of course, she knows it's not like that. She knows it's something more than friendship and something more than mere appreciation. But Brittany can never know—Santana knows that. People don't take kindly to people who are different, especially in an environment like Vegas. Besides, Santana isn't a lesbian, right?

She couldn't be.

.

The other girls begin arriving just before seven and send inquisitive looks Brittany's way. Santana notices Brittany looking a bit uncomfortable and so she tries to get the others to stop staring—Santana remembers her first day working at the Trouble Tones and how everyone stared at her, judging to see if she'd be any good or not. She smiles a little, thinking of the memory and how Quinn had taken Santana under her wing, Santana taking the spot that Mercedes used to get ready at. But Santana doubts that she can be as good a person to Brittany as Quinn was to her—Santana isn't the selfless type. But there is a part of her that wants to care for Brittany, to make sure that she doesn't get pushed aside or lonely, to make sure that she's cared for.

Santana holds back a snort. Caring for someone who works in a club, who, for all intents and purposes, is about to become a stripper? _Please_. There's no way of caring for her innocence, for keeping her safe from the guys who will leer at her.

Santana has to remind herself that Brittany signed herself up to work at the Trouble Tones. She knows what she's doing. Or, at least, Santana hopes she does. In reality, none of them really know what they're doing. They just dance and do their job and hope that somewhere along the line they can get out of the business and into something more respectable. Any time someone quits, they look at them like they're trying to personally offend them by doing so but secretly they all know that they wish they were in their shoes. There isn't a single girl who works in the club who doesn't wish she could be in Quinn's position. The worst thing is, they all know that, but none of them will ever admit it out loud.

Not even if they wanted to.

.

The owner of the Trouble Tones goes by the name Sandy Ryerson. The girls all have their different theories about him; an ex-drug dealer, a man who once wanted to be the first man score the main role in the Broadway version of Sister Act, the man who sent the most amount of hate-mail to the writers of _Desperate Housewives _after it was cancelled. Some even believe that he used to be a school teacher and Glee Club director, although that theory is often treated with scorn. The one thing all the girls can decide on, though, is that although he is practically the dictionary definition of creepy, he's actually the best boss they could ask for. He does genuinely care about what happens to the girls and he's always there for comic value, too. Along with Holly Holliday, he makes up the management team of the Trouble Tones, allowing everything to run smoothly.

Sandy strolls in at precisely seven o'clock, forcing some of the girls to grab the nearest article of clothing to cover themselves up as they are not yet changed. Sandy shoots them a look that quite clearly says they should have been ready already, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he should have perhaps knocked first before waltzing into the girls' dressing room.

He wears his cardigan flung over his shoulders, the two sleeves tied together over his shirt. Brittany looks at him with a look of confusion on her face and then turns and looks at Santana.

"_Is that the Boss_?" she mouths at Santana.

"_Yep_," Santana mouths back, a nonchalant look on her face. She's mainly apathetic towards Sandy—she doesn't exactly hate him, but it's not as though she's standing up and saying that he's the best boss she's ever had, and Santana has had the displeasure of working at McDonalds with a few bosses that didn't exactly appreciate her as a human being, before.

"_So_," Sandy begins, filling the room with his voice. It's not exactly the most pleasant sound to hear. "We've got a new recruit."

With that sentence, everyone turns to look at Brittany, who sends a half-hearted smile their way. She's clearly nervous. Santana remembers that she was, too, on her first day, although she certainly did a better job of hiding it. Mind you, Santana has hidden her emotions all her life; it comes easily to her.

"Holly will be out in a few moments," Sandy says, realising that he's lost all the attention he previously had. For a moment, he looks as though he's going to say something more but then he walks out, leaving the girls to finish getting dressed, hoping for no further interruptions. In a few minutes, they're all ready to and so they simply wait for Holly to come in and try and somehow fix the routine.

When Holly finally waltzes in, about ten minutes later, the girls all hurriedly get up from their mirrors and wait for instructions. Holly seems almost relaxed about the whole thing which puts Santana in a foul mood—they'd been told to arrive early but then left waiting for ten minutes before anyone bothered to sort out anything. Perhaps she's still annoyed about Quinn, or perhaps she just feels like baiting someone.

"More important things to do, Holly?" Santana questions, stepping closer to the older woman and making it clear that she's not exactly pleased.

Holly glares at Santana. "I was making a few calls," she says. "_Important _calls."

"Oh, sorry," Santana says breezily. "I didn't know your affair with a married man was more important than the club."

A gasp spreads around the girls. For a split second, Santana regrets mentioning Holly's love life in front of the others, but the second doesn't last long as she lets a smirk appear on her face, deciding that it's not her fault that Holly looks so hurt by the remark because, for all intents and purposes, what Santana just said is true.

"Thank you, Santana," Holly says stiffly. "Now, we've got a job to do."

"Oh, you'll be performing lots of jobs," Santana laughs, not caring if she's pushing Holly a little too far.

If looks could kill, the two women would probably both be dead from the looks they sent each other. Holly shoots one last disdainful glare at Santana before beckoning for the girls to go out onto the stage to try and fill Quinn's place.

"You'll be taking the lead, Santana," Holly says sharply, as though it pains her to give the lead to her after Santana's remarks. Holly and Santana aren't exactly enemies, but Santana has never really known when to keep her mouth shut that has made them more acquaintances than friends. But even those who hate Santana the most know that nobody but her or Quinn could pull off the lead 'exotic dancer' role at the Trouble Tones.

.

The rehearsal passes by quickly, Holly shouting out orders to make sure everything is perfect. They've had the same lot of dancers for at least three months and so Santana isn't surprised that it's difficult to co-ordinate it all. She notices Brittany is an amazing dancer, though—even though the type of dancing they do is very basic, more based on what the men want to see than any kind of dancing that one would see anywhere else, beneath is all there's a layer of technical knowledge and Santana respects the blonde for that.

Santana and Brittany are often close to each other in the routine and she finds herself almost constantly brushing against Brittany. It wouldn't be a problem, but every touch feels like fire, but fire that fills her with awe and wonder, fire that leaves her not even caring that she's going to get burnt. She finds herself making every excuse to brush against Brittany, keeping their skin touching for longer than actually required. Accidental touches is not a thing to feel guilty about, but Santana can't help feeling guilty; after all, the touches mean more to her than they do to Brittany, right?

She admires Brittany too greatly, finds her more beautiful than perhaps she should. Then again, Santana has never played by the rules—why should she begin to do so when it comes to Brittany?

Her thoughts distract her so much that she ends up flying into Kitty while she's dancing, her elbow nearly connecting with Kitty's face. Kitty looks annoyed and opens her mouth as though she's about to say something, but Santana glares at her in a way that suggests Kitty shouting at Santana would not be the wisest approach.

"Shut it, Quinn-clone," Santana snaps, regretting her words the second they come out of her mouth. The girls all stop what they're doing and turn to look in Santana's direction, attempting to figure out how Santana will react to what she just said.

Rearranging her face into a smirk, she turns away from Kitty. "Back to work, guys," she calls. "I'm not having anyone slipping up tonight just because Quinn's gone."

The girls pretend that they can't see that every time Santana says Quinn's name, it stings. But as they carry on dancing, the jokes and laughter that they were sharing just seconds previously seem to fade away.

.

The club opens at nine o'clock on the dot and so the girls wrap up their practice at quarter past eight, so they're able to get ready on time. Santana waits for Brittany before she makes her way back into the dressing room, shooting a reassuring smile her way.

"How's it going?" she asks. "You holding up?"

"I love it here," Brittany says, "Everyone is so nice."

Santana snorts a little, at first thinking that Brittany is joking but then straightening her face as she realises Brittany's smile is sincere. "You're kidding?" she says.

"No," Brittany replies. "I mean, I suppose Kitty isn't the nicest person ever…"

"You've got that right," Santana cuts in.

Brittany laughs a little. "But no one's been mean to me yet, so…"

"No one will be mean to you," Santana says. "Kitty's just bitter that I'm a better dancer than her."

"You're a better dancer than everyone," Brittany tells her. "That's why Holly picked you."

Santana smiles. "Thanks," she replies. "I am pretty fabulous, right? It's the Lima Heights upbringing."

She causes Brittany to laugh again, although she looks a little confused, and so the both of them make their way off the stage and into the dressing room, finding their costumes and make-up for the night.

And in that moment, Santana almost forgets that Quinn was ever a part of the Trouble Tones.

.

Brittany's first night goes extremely well, Santana thinks. The guys completely fall for her, their eyes lingering on her long legs, her curves, her face, the way her costume shows off her body in a better way that Santana had ever thought possible for the costumes to make anyone look. Santana still gets her fair share of attention, making sure each guy feels that she's there for them, not for herself. Although it's not exactly the job Santana had thought of when she was younger, it's definitely a profession that she's good at—she's not exactly on the streets and begging for food.

The days flash quickly by, turning from days to weeks, from weeks to a month, until it has been two months since Brittany joined the club. The two are fast friends, that's for sure, and Santana feels as though she can hold in the feelings she thought she had felt for Brittany. Besides, she has work to do, and plenty of guys who would take her in an instant. In fact, sometimes she takes guys home from the club, those that really catch her eye and manage to make her feel something. Of course, she never spends more than one night with the same guy; none of them really cut it for her, no matter how much she pretends that they can and do.

Everything settles back into a routine, Santana doing the same almost every day, dancing and heading home late, sleeping for as long as her body will allow her to and walking to the club, showing everyone that's she's Santana Lopez and she's fabulous, she's above them all. Actually, it's remarkably easy for her to show them that. Everything stays in the routine and seems as if it will, for a long time, until one fateful November night.

As usual, Santana heads on stage at nine o'clock, her make-up bright and her smile shining brighter, her arm around Brittany's shoulder, only to slide off just before they head on stage. And at the bottom of her handbag, her phone begins to ring, a phonecall coming through from someone she hasn't spoken to in a while. But the handbag muffles the sound of her ring tone, and even if Santana had heard it, she'd not be able to answer it anyway. Perhaps, if Santana had known who it was, she wouldn't have even picked up, and would have just left the blonde on the other side of the phone sitting in her car, listening to the phone ring on until the answer phone clicked in.

Quinn waits. She's not really surprised when Santana doesn't pick up—they haven't spoken for two months, and Santana is probably on stage. But it doesn't stop her from feeling a little hurt as the answer phone asks to take a message. Quinn does so, her voice cracking a little as she keeps on driving, knowing that it's not fair to ring Santana only when she needs her most, rather than when Santana was probably in need of her, But Quinn can't turn back the past, can't change the fact that she was too stubborn, too scared to ring up her old friend and let her know that she still loved her, that there were no hard feelings because of what Santana had said the night she left. And so she keeps on driving, her eyes occasionally darting over to her phone on the passengers seat as she turns up the radio and makes her way back to Ohio, racing along the streets as the rain pours down, not caring that the roads are probably dangerous to be driving on; she needs to get to Ohio, and fast.

When Santana makes her way off stage, she's tired and flustered, but her cheeks are shining brightly as she laughs with Brittany, the two of them making comments about one especially fat man who bore a resemblance to a walrus that seemed to be trying to hit on the pair of them. Santana sweeps her handbag off her chair before grabbing her make-up wipes, removing the bright red lipstick that she'd never want to wear off-stage. Her handbag begins to vibrate and Santana realises that her phone is inside it. Dropping the make-up wipes, she picks it up, looking confused as she sees a picture of Quinn on the screen.

It's an internal battle. There's a part of Santana that doesn't want to pick up, that wants to just screw Quinn and leave her alone like Quinn has done for two months to her now. But there's another part, the part that still cares about Quinn, the part that has feelings for Brittany, the part that feels bad for saying horrible things to people she loves, that begs her to pick up—that tells her she'll regret it if she doesn't.

Somehow, the second part of her wins and so she picks up the phone, holding it to her ear and covering her other ear so she can hear the call in the midst of all the dressing room noise. It occurs to her that she should go outside to answer the call, but it's cold and she almost wants Quinn to hear the noise of the dressing room, to let her know what she's missing out on.

"Hello?" Santana says into the phone. "Quinn?"

"It's not Quinn, I'm afraid," a man's voice answers on the other end of the phone. "I'm a from the hospital."

Santana's heart begins beating faster than she thinks it's ever beaten before. She rises from her chair and practically throws herself through the door, needing to get out into the air so she can properly hear whatever it is that she has to hear, without worrying about the reactions of the others around her, or having to scream at them to shut up as their laughter gets too loud.

"Yes?" she says, trying not to let her voice show that she's closer to crying that she's ever been.

"Quinn was in an accident," the man says. "We think she was on her way to Ohio. She was driving too fast and she wasn't looking when…" his voice trails off.

"When _what_?" Santana insists, her voice coming out as sharper than she intended.

"When the van crashed into the drivers side of the car." the man informs her, his voice full of regret.

And then the world seems to crash down and Santana just doesn't know what she's doing anymore.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed. Why do you think Quinn is in such a hurry to get to Ohio? Don't forget to review! :)


End file.
